


Part Four: The Rebels in the Hills

by HermaiaMoira



Series: Il Doctore: a Hannibal/Spartacus crossover [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Anal Sex, Branding, Crucifixion, Cunnilingus, F/F, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: This is part four of the Hannibal Ancient Rome alternate universe series, "Il Doctore." Hannibal and Will finally come face to face with the band of escaped slaves led by Spartacus. In a less likely place, two others are praying for the fall of Rome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted quite some time ago (before Marlana became canon, in fact) as a chapter of a complete work, but I am posting it again as a separate volume along with the rest of the series in order to make it less difficult to find. Thank you!
> 
> Some helpful words:  
> Salve/Salvete: A Roman greeting  
> Ichneumon: Mongoose  
> Gustatio: Appetizer  
> Primae Mensa: Main course
> 
> Mason and Margot are renamed in the Latin fashion as Cementarius and Margarita

 

Marcus Licinius Crassus lived in a veritable palace in Rome. Hannibal and Will were brought into an expansive training room to greet the wealthiest and, arguably, most powerful man in the city and found him in modest attire sparring with his doctore. Crassus was getting on in years, but his body was lean and muscular and he fought with agility and speed. His bare feet darted about in the sand pit as he held his training sword with the deftness of a great general. When he had mastered his opponent, the doctore bowed to his dominus and stepped aside.

“Magister Will Capanna and his doctore, Hannibal, are here to speak with you, Dominus,” the vilicus announced.

Crassus accepted a slave’s offering of drink and a cloth to mop the sweat from his face and throat.

“ _Salvete_ , gentlemen,” he greeted them.

“You fight well, General Crassus,” Hannibal commented.

“Welcome praise from a champion of the arena!” Crassus replied with a chuckle.

“How fares the fight against Spartacus?” Will asked when they were seated.

“Miserable,” Crassus muttered. “Again and again generals and their men fall to his band of rebels.”

Will nodded and took a breath.

“Their downfall has been underestimating their opponent.”

“I have to agree,” Crassus responded. “Spartacus has proven to be more than a mere slave.”

“He is a slave,” Will corrected. “Slaves are men and women who have had a net thrown over them. There is no logical reason to expect less of them than any other person.”

Crassus narrowed his eyes for a moment and then nodded.

“This auxiliary that we are funding together,” Will continued, “How do you suppose it will succeed when others have failed?”

“I have assembled the best men in the legion,” Crassus told him.

“The men who have died before them were capable fighters as well,” Will pointed out. “Perhaps a new method is in order.”

“What do you suggest?” Crassus asked.

“That you put yourself into the mindset of your enemy,” Will replied. “Consider what he would do, given a particular situation, and formulate a counter-strategy.”

Crassus leaned back and scrutinized the young man who was giving him advice.

“How should I know what rattles around in Spartacus’ brain?”

“Spartacus has one particular disadvantage,” Will explained. “He is only able to recruit slaves. These are people who hail from diverse cultures and have no particular loyalties other than a shared animosity towards Romans. Spartacus has the unenviable task of keeping them unified, despite their differences.”

“They appear to be quite unified,” Crassus sniffed.

“You must take that from him,” Will instructed. “Marginalize his party from within, and they will fall apart.”

Hannibal listened with interest as Will shared his plan.

“Spartacus is not in a position to vet every recruit that comes his way. Disguise a Roman soldier as a slave and have him infiltrate the army. Choose someone clever, someone who can use his position to turn Spartacus’ men against each other. Then watch them split ways, and pick them off with ease.”

Crassus blinked back at Will for a moment, and then a low chuckle erupted from his throat. He clapped the young man on the back.

“That is quite a scheme,” he said, gesturing at the slave to bring them wine. “I might just give it some consideration.”

As they left the house of Crassus, Hannibal strode behind Will and observed the young man.

“He respected your opinion,” Hannibal said as they climbed into the carriage.

“I know little of warfare,” Will replied, “But on human nature, I feel I have some insight.”

* * *

 

His hand was hot and moist on the back of her neck as he pushed her forward. Judith stumbled over the dirt pathway as they approached the pen of pigs. She gasped when he thrust her up against the wooden enclosure and looked upon the carnage within.

“This is something you need to see,” Cementarius sneered. He forced her head forward so that she was nearly bending over the gate.

A slave had been gut and was tied to a peg hammered into the mud. The pigs rutted through his bowels, his blood staining their toothed snouts. Judith tried to restrain her gagging response.

“When you listen to the words of my abolitionist sister,” Cementarius explained, “I want you to remember what happens to slaves who forget their place.”

“I pay no mind to her words, Dominus,” Judith insisted. She closed her eyes, but the image of the bound slave, intestines spilled in the mud, beasts chewing on his organs, remained in her vision.

Cementarius watched his pigs devour the errant slave and a giddy expression came over him. He laughed and bounced a bit before turning on Judith once more.

“When she beckons you to her bedchamber,” he cooed, “You will remember who you really belong to, won’t you? I know your lips and fingers smell of her, but it is my cock that will split you open.”

He grabbed her hips and began to lift her tunic, his hand grasping her hair, keeping her face turned to the punished slave. Judith gritted her teeth and stiffened against him.

“Brother, dear,” a voice rang out behind them. Cementarius stopped and looked over his shoulder. Margarita stood between the pen and the villa, dark hair moving in the breeze. “If you do not mind, I have need of my attendant.”

The relief caused Judith to tremble, and a tear fell down her cheek as Cementarius released her.

“Of course, Margarita, of course,” he said. “I was merely bestowing a lesson on the girl.”

Judith walked quickly toward her domina and the two went inside of the villa.

“I can’t bear to see him touch you,” Margarita told her as they entered her bedchamber.

“I feel as though he fouls me simply putting eyes upon me.”

Margarita began to remove the outer garments of her dress. Judith attended her, lowering the sleeves and unwrapping the fabric around her torso.

“I am sorry you had to see Ennio in that way,” Margarita whispered.

“He put his life at risk,” Judith replied, “When he spoke of Spartacus to the other slaves.”

Margarita ran her fingers through Judith’s hair and watched her pull her dress away.

“Would that Spartacus would come here,” she murmured.

“He would kill your brother,” Judith said.

Margarita smiled and put her head back. Judith began to kiss along her bare collar, over the tops of her breasts.

“That is an alluring thought,” Margarita sighed. “He would kill me as well.”

Judith lifted her face.

“I would vouch for you,” she said.

“Spartacus would not care,” Margarita responded, pulling her closer. “Don’t worry, I would die with a smile on my lips.”

She kissed Judith, and the slave pressed into her, pulling Margarita’s undergarments away from her breasts and massaging them in her hands.

“You would die to see Rome free?”

“I would die to see Rome die,” Margarita laughed.

The fell onto the bed together and Judith lifted Margarita’s skirt and lay kisses on her thighs. The domina gave her a coaxing gesture.

“Let me see you, beauty,” she said.

Judith smiled and sat up on her knees. She lifted her tunic over her head and arched her back, displaying her breasts and slender belly. Margarita looked upon her lovingly.

“Neither of us is free,” she whispered.

Judith lowered her head between Margarita’s legs, pushing her backside up so that her domina could see the heart-shape of her cheeks and the curve of her spine.

“One day Rome will burn, and the rebels will climb atop the ruins of this wretched land, and you and I will leave it hand in hand.”

Margarita exhaled as Judith pressed her lips against her vulva and began to lick, began to push her fingers inside of her, knowing exactly how she liked to be stroked and touched. She buried her fingers in her lover’s hair and moaned.

“Spartacus will be too busy to pay us any mind,” Judith stopped to say.

“Then gods give him strength… and a blind spot…” Margarita gasped, and threw her head back on the pillow.

* * *

 

Ilithyia opened her eyes and looked around her. She was lying on a bed in a small cabin. To her side stood a wooden chair with a carafe and a basin of water on the seat. She tried to roll over, but the pain in her belly caused her to emit a sharp cry. She heard footsteps and lay back, staring at the doorway to the next room.

Hannibal emerged with cloths and ointment in his hand.

“Lucretia…” she muttered.

“You will recover,” Hannibal said, sitting next to her. He reached out and began to remove the bandages over her abdomen. Ilithyia groaned when she saw the stitches in her flesh. Hannibal handed her the carafe and slowly tipped the water into her mouth. She took it and drank eagerly.

“When you do,” Hannibal continued, dipping a cloth into the basin and tenderly washing her wound, “I will return you to your uncle in Rome.”

Ilithyia brushed the moisture from her lips and gave the carafe back to Hannibal.

“I’m sure he will pay you a hefty price,” she said bitterly.

Hannibal smiled at her.

“You would sell me back into slavery?” she continued

Hannibal put ointment onto her stitches and began to bandage her up with fresh cloth.

“Slavery is what we make of it,” he told her. “Like Lucretia, you will bear the name of one who was spared by the gods. Use that to your advantage, and take power where you can.”

Ilithyia relaxed into the bed and stared up at the rustic ceiling. A thoughtful smirk played at her lips.

* * *

 

Fredo’s vilicus had grown accustomed to making sure that he had adequate parchment and quills, but he hadn’t received many visitors recently. The lanista had sunken into depression, and it showed. He lay on the reclining couch beside his desk, barely touching his food or drink. The tiny segment of tongue at the back of his throat was barely enough to push the food around in his mouth, and it unnerved him. Previously he had called out to a slave with a pitiful moaning sound, but it humiliated him and so he had resigned to silence.

“Will Capanna is here to see you, Dominus,” the vilicus said.

Fredo groaned and considered waving him away with refusal, but thought better of it. When the young man entered the cubiculum, he glowered up at him from behind his desk.

“Thank you for seeing me, Fredo,” Will said. “I know we left on bad terms previously.”

Fredo laughed a bit, and it made him cough.

“I have something for you,” Will continued. “It may help alleviate your current condition.”

Will pulled a satchel from his garment and set it down on Fredo’s desk. The lanista eyed it and looked back at Will with a suspicious raised eyebrow.

“Please, I give you my word that it is a genuine gift. I wish you no more suffering.”

Fredo unwrapped the satchel and pulled out the contraption that Will had been laboring over for the last week. It was a strip of thick, treated leather attached to a two-sided clamping mechanism. The metal was also treated, and gleamed in the candlelight.

“Please, allow me,” Will said, and moved toward the couch. Fredo pulled back, but that didn’t stop Will’s advances. The young man twisted open the empty side of the clamp.

“Open your mouth, it slides right inside.”

Fredo shot him an incredulous expression.

“I’ve tried it on myself, it’s not painful.”

Fredo opened up and grunted a bit when Will gently slid the contraption inside. He found the segment of sliced tongue that remained near the back of his mouth and closed the clamp onto it. Then he tightened it into place. It was momentarily uncomfortable, but the snugness held the leather in place. The strip was sturdy like a muscle, but still had flexibility to it. Will pulled back to examine his work. He adjusted the leather a bit, and then smiled.

“Try speaking,” he said.

Fredo began to talk.

“Try speaking,” he repeated with a severe impediment. His eyes opened wide.

“If you practice, you can learn to use it as you would a tongue,” Will said.

Fredo moved his mouth around. The prosthetic extension was extremely awkward, but when he nudged it against his teeth and palate, he could feel it somewhat on the stump of actual tongue that remained.

“Where did you get it?” he asked. His words were still muffled and over-enunciated, but Will could tell that the “tongue” was doing what he had intended.

“I made it,” he answered. “I designed it myself, with advice from my stable-master.”

Fredo looked impressed, and sat up on the couch. Will was sitting next to him with a sheepish grin.

“Not quite like your old tongue, I know,” he said, “But I’ve seen people come to use artificial limbs with almost no loss of dexterity.”

Fredo moved the tongue in and out of his mouth. The treatment on the leather made it smooth and workable.

“Thank you,” he stammered, working over the consonants.

“It is the least I could do,” Will replied.

Fredo sniffed and nodded in agreement.

“I am willing to renege my slander charges against you,” Will told him, “And help negate your status of infamia, on one condition.”

Fredo raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me where Ren’s children are residing, and allow me the deed to the villa rustica so that I may see to it personally that they are well cared for.”

“Why are they so important to you?” Fredo asked.

“Doctore Ren haunts my dreams,” Will confessed. “Perhaps if I care for his children as if they were my own, he would let me rest.”

“You believe you can restore my citizenry?”

“I know I can,” Will promised.

Fredo thought for a moment, and reached for a parchment. He began to write up the deed.

“Have you considered,” he mused, “That Ren haunts you because you keep that treacherous beast so near?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Whatever it is he does for you,” Fredo warned. “It isn’t worth it, my friend.”

* * *

 

The handsome, fair-haired man remained disheveled even after he had returned from fighting and bathed. His locks were shaggy and his face unshaved. Behind the scruff, his blue eyes shimmered with a manic energy and inquisitive mind.

“Gaius Julius Caesar,” he greeted Will and Hannibal as they visited Crassus Villa. “You must be Magister Will Graham and his famous cannibal gladiator!”

Hannibal only smirked at the irreverence, the young man’s lighthearted manner gave his brash words a certain charm.

“Salve,” Will replied. “Crassus tells me you are the one to infiltrate Spartacus’ slave army, as a spy.”

“Yes. Your idea, I believe?”

Will smiled and replied, “I see you’ve maintained your rough appearance. Good.”

“I shall slither in undetected and strike them when they are pissing themselves drunk,” Caesar laughed.

Hannibal moved forward so that his face was near to his and murmured, “You must use your tongue, and not your sword. Turn slave against slave, and your hand will not need to touch the hilt.”

Caesar cocked his head and gave Hannibal a sly wink. As the two exited, Will turned and gave Caesar one last word of advice.

“Don’t forget the brand.”

“What?” Caesar asked.

“Brand yourself,” Will explained, “And they will believe you are one of them.”

 

Back at the villa, Will followed Hannibal into the barracks.

“Caesar’s reputation precedes him,” he said.

“I have heard of his valor in battle,” Hannibal replied.

“Do you admire him?” Will asked.

“That I cannot yet say,” Hannibal answered. “To be a soldier is of some merit, but to be an assassin, an architect of espionage, that is quite another rung on the ladder.”

“Where do you place yourself on the ladder?”

Hannibal tilted his head toward the young man, letting his soft hair fall across his forehead as he smiled.

“There is no need for ladders when one can scale walls.”

Will moved closer to him and said, “Would that I could find my own identity, and maintain it with loyalty without regard to any consequences.”

“What identity are you incapable of maintaining in your current position?”

“My relationship to you,” Will answered.

“What is it you desire from our relationship?”

Will leaned his head against Hannibal’s breast and whispered, “That we could reverse our roles.”

“I the master, and you the slave?” Hannibal chuckled, petting his dark curls.

“It is a perversion, I know…” Will began.

“Stop,” Hannibal told him. “There is no perversion. It is a shoddy construct created by the same fools who invented the social hierarchy we currently fight against.”

Hannibal pressed his lips to the top of Will’s head.

“Tell me what you want, and do not be ashamed of it.”

Will took a deep breath and answered, “I want to be yours. Not symbolically, or metaphorically, I want you to literally own me. I want you to… punish me. Strip me naked, beat me, chain me to your bedpost, use me as you like.”

“Brand you,” Hannibal suggested.

Will looked up at him with eyes wide. Hannibal grinned when he saw the glimmer of excitement there. Will’s nostrils flared and his tongue darted between his lips.

“Oh gods, yes,” he sighed. “What could be more thoroughly debasing?”

Hannibal turned away to the glowing hot furnace. He brought out one of the branding irons and shoved it into the coals.

“No,” Will stammered, “Not in reality. It is merely a fantasy.”

“Oh,” Hannibal returned to him with a jovial sneer. “Symbolic then? Metaphoric?”

Will looked at the iron in the fire, blessed mingling of fear and arousal stirring in his gut. He realized that once again he would not be able to refuse whatever Hannibal offered to him. Hannibal knew it too.

His rough fingers ran over Will’s tunic, pulling it away from him in deft movements. Will closed his eyes and allowed himself to be stripped. Hannibal led him to the table by the furnace and lifted him up on it. He pushed him onto his back and fetched a rope from the wall. Will trembled and watched as the gladiator bound his hands to the table legs, then spread his knees far apart and bound his ankles to the table as well. He pulled Will’s hips forward until his ass was perched at the very edge.

Hannibal pushed his fingers into his mouth, and then lowered them between Will’s legs. Will moaned and arched into the touch.

“You want to belong to me?” Hannibal asked, probing his fingers inside of him.

Will nodded emphatically, biting his lip.

“You want me to make a slave of you?”

“Yes,” Will gasped, “I do.”

“Let us crush everything that keeps us from being what we are,” Hannibal said. He began to fondle Will’s stiffening genitals as he pushed his fingers deeper.

“I want to,” Will told him.

“Beg me for what you need,” Hannibal said, his voice low and gruff.

“Fuck me,” Will answered, pushing his hips forward as much as he could from the bonds.

“I’ve fucked you before,” Hannibal replied. “That’s not what you need.”

“Anything you want,” Will insisted. Hannibal’s fingers were pressing inside of him, stretching him, nudging him until shivers ran over his body.

“You know what I want,” Hannibal hissed. “Now beg me for it.”

“Brand me…” Will answered in a small, shaking voice. He continued, louder, stronger, “Brand me, please. Make me yours.”

Hannibal pulled the flat-nosed iron out of the coals and held it over Will. The young man stared back at it, shuddering in fear. He stretched out on the table, back arching against the wood, lean torso lurching with every breath. He released a sharp cry when Hannibal lowered the brand directly above his groin, along the dark patch of his pubic hair. Will could feel the blazing heat before it even touched his skin, could hear the sound of hair singing, smell it like burning feathers.

Hannibal pressed the glowing tip against his flesh and Will jolted against his bonds, screaming. Hannibal pulled it away and looked in awe at the discoloration on the skin. He lowered it again and made a parallel mark. Will twisted his shoulders and threw his head back on the table. His scream came out silent this time, voiceless breath emerging from his stretched throat. When Hannibal pulled back once more, Will began to sob and thrash.

“One more, my pet,” Hannibal soothed, and pressed the iron once more, between the two lines, making an H-shape.

Tears fell down Will’s cheeks and he began to hyperventilate, sucking in air and pushing it out between clenched teeth. Hannibal put the branding iron aside and brushed his hand over Will’s wet face.

“Hannibal,” Will moaned.

“Yes?” he answered, fondling Will’s cock and smiling as it stiffened once more, despite the pain he was in.

“Fuck me now,” the young man groaned, “Please.”

Hannibal untied Will’s ankles from the table legs then brought them up so that his knees were pinned to his chest. He took his cock out and slid it between Will’s cheeks. Will squirmed and gyrated up against him.

“Please, Hannibal, I can’t take the pain…”

“You need pleasure to dull it,” Hannibal responded.

“Yes, please, I need it.”

Will strained against the ropes, pushing his hips up as Hannibal stroked him.

“Hannibal,” he whimpered.

“Dominus,” Hannibal corrected.

Will felt the air leave his lungs, and his eyelashes fluttered as his face flushed.

“Dominus,” he whispered. “Fuck me, Dominus, please.”

Hannibal pushed his cock into him and began to thrust hard, until Will’s grateful moans turned into desperate, broken bleats.

As Will slept, he dreamed once again that he was before the tomb of his father. He laid flowers at the entrance to the great mausoleum. Again he saw Hannibal approach, dressed in a general’s armor. Now he resisted, pulling away when Hannibal reached for him. The gladiator overcame him and threw him over his shoulder. He carried him away as Will clawed and kicked, reaching out for his father’s grave.

* * *

 

“I must speak to Aeliana again,” Will told Hannibal in the carriage as they traveled through Rome. Octavio rode with them. “I want the both of you to wait for me in the marketplace.”

“Of what do you wish to speak?” Hannibal asked.

“I must try to win her approval once more.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed and Octavio shifted in his seat.

“I know that Madame Flos does not approve of my place in your household,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the villa rustica, and guarded Ren’s children,” Will explained.

“Away from you, Will?” Hannibal retorted. He shot a glance at Octavio who twitched suddenly. “Away from you, Dominus?”

“I will be there often,” Will promised. “You will only be away from Aeliana. That is all.”

“These are dangerous times for a wealthy landowner,” Hannibal warned. “I insist that I remain in the villa with you.”

“We can speak about this later,” Will replied. “I do not know what Aeliana will even say to my proposal.”

The carriage came to a halt and Will disembarked. An intense far-off gaze pierced the air in front of Hannibal’s golden eyes. They darted with thought.

As Octavio perused the marketplace near the Flos villa, he noticed that Hannibal had wandered into the doorway of a tavern. The scent of cheap, starchy ale didn’t seem to him like a smell that would attract the refined doctore, so he didn’t follow but instead chose to watch discreetly from behind a vendor stand.

Hannibal approached a hooded figure leaning against a wall indoors. The person was petite, especially when standing before Hannibal. Octavio guessed it might be a woman. When Hannibal spoke to the stranger, she stood upright and looked to place a hand on a weapon within her wraps. Hannibal steadied her, and Octavio’s brow furrowed when he saw the smirk on Hannibal’s face. His lips began to move, but Octavio could not tell what he was saying. Hannibal pulled up his wrist guard and showed the woman the mark of House Capanna on his forearm. Then he handed her a small, tightly-rolled parchment, which she opened and glanced over. The hooded woman nodded, and backed away from Hannibal.

When she exited the tavern, a breeze pulled her hood back from her face a bit, and Octavio examined her. She was dark-skinned, with braided hair. She was strikingly beautiful, but something about her made him shiver; a stony coldness of her expression, and a well of profound hatred behind her eyes.

* * *

 

In the night, when Will’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a shriek and a clashing of metal, he thought he was dreaming again. He scanned the room for ghostly apparitions before he realized that the commotion was coming from outside of the villa. He heard another cry and sat upright in bed.

Moments later, Hannibal burst into his room and rushed over to him.

“The rebels have infiltrated the villa!” he told him in a hushed voice. “The soldiers are holding them off, but there are a great many and they may be overcome. I must hide you.”

Hannibal guided Will out of a back door and over to a well beside the slave’s quarters. He removed the iron plate that covered it.

“You can hide in here, until I’ve ushered them away,” he said.

Will climbed onto the side of the well and put his feet into the bucket.

“I am sorry, Dominus,” Hannibal said. “I have failed you.”

“No, you have saved my life,” Will replied. “You were right. Had I not brought you in to train my soldiers, I would be dead before I heard their screams.”

Hannibal grabbed him and kissed him, then quickly lowered him down into the well. When Will reached the bottom, Hannibal covered the opening with the plate and hurried back to the villa. As he walked toward the gate, the rebels came toward him with swords drawn. He lifted his arm to show them his brand, and they led him into the house.

A handsome but formidable man around Hannibal’s age had taken over Will’s cubiculum and was rummaging through paperwork on his desk. The man accompanying him stood out among the rebels, as he was quite small and had gentle features and long, dark hair. He noticed Hannibal entering.

“He is a slave,” one of the rebels informed them, “He wears a brand.”

The man at the desk, who appeared to be the leader, greeted Hannibal.

“With whom do I speak?”

“I am Hannibal, the doctore. I train the soldiers for the Dominus’ property.”

“You have done impressive work,” Spartacus said. “I have not yet encountered such skillful fighters on a Roman’s personal property before. It was a shame to have to slaughter them.”

Hannibal laughed.

“Perhaps I didn’t push them hard enough, or perhaps only just hard enough.” He winked and continued, “You must be Spartacus.”

“That I am,” he answered. “This is my brother-in-arms, Nasir.”

Nasir’s smile was warm and he bowed his head as a well-trained house slave might.

“Am I right in assuming you are quite the fighter yourself?” Spartacus asked.

“I was a gladiator, not long ago, before the Dominus purchased me for this house.”

“A gladiator!” Nasir exclaimed, “Our favorite form of recruit!”

“Indeed,” Spartacus said with a smile, “Please, join us in our cause, now that you are a free man.”

Hannibal nodded and returned the smile.

“Thank you for the offer, but I would prefer to gather what I can and return to my precious homeland, far away from these Roman cunts; if you will allow me.”

Spartacus was clearly disappointed.

“In which direction must you travel?”

“North,” Hannibal answered, “Very far to the north, where it is much too cold for delicate Roman skin.”

“Ah,” Spartacus said, “We head south… to Rome.”

“Stopping here for supplies?”

“One of our scouts was given a tip that this villa was poorly guarded and filled with valuable exploits,” Spartacus responded. “The second was true, but the first, not so. No matter, we benefit from practice.”

“May the gods themselves lend you their swords.”

“Thank you, Hannibal,” he began to look through the papers again. “I only wish you would reconsider…”

A great riot of cries and screaming erupted from outside. Spartacus looked up suddenly with concern as one of the rebels came running in.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“We have found the dominus,” the rebel answered. Hannibal jolted noticeably and Spartacus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“He was hiding in a well near the slave’s quarters. The well was covered. Someone obviously hid him there.”

“Why the uproar?” Spartacus asked, still observing Hannibal as the doctore’s breathing hastened.

“The slaves,” the rebel told him, irritated. “They are wailing and making a fuss, begging us to spare him. Crixus and Agron are crucifying the little shit as we sp…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Hannibal drew his sword and slashed it across the rebel’s throat, slicing it open. Spartacus and Nasir drew their weapons and attempted to bring him down, but he fought with a ferocity that they had not expected and found themselves retreating more than advancing. Suddenly, an anguished cry rang out, accompanied by the metallic clanging of a hammer on nail. Hannibal flew toward the doorway, slicing through any other rebels who blocked his path. He emerged into the daylight and ran toward the crowd. The slaves were, in fact, crying and throwing themselves on the ground in front of the rebels who had Will tied up on a wooden cross. A large man was pounding a nail into one of his soft hands, causing blood to spurt onto the ground in front of him.

“Please!” Octavio begged. “Please, he is kind… he is a good man. Spare his life, I beg you!”

“He is a Roman and a slaver!” the other crucifier yelled. “He deserves no less.”

The slaves saw Hannibal running toward them and screamed at him.

“Doctore! Doctore, help him! Stop them!”

“Agron!” Nasir called out, running after Hannibal.

The man called Agron saw Spartacus and Nasir chasing the armed man and he charged, along with more rebels. Hannibal took them on, roaring and spitting and cursing like a madman. There were too many of them, and even The Cannibal was overwhelmed. Spartacus knocked him on the head with the pommel of his sword and Agron and Nasir grabbed him by the arms and pushed him to his knees. The man who nailed Will’s hand came toward him, sword pointed.

“Who is this?”

Spartacus regained himself.

“Crixus, he is the doctore of the barracks here. He is a slave.”

“Why do you fight us? We only wish to free you,” Crixus asked.

“Get… him… down…” Hannibal snarled, his face showing viciousness that even the gladiators he fought on the sands never had the horror of witnessing.

“I know you,” another rebel exclaimed, approaching them.

“Gannicus?” Spartacus remarked, surprised to see the look of admiration on his face.

“You are Hannibal the Cannibal,” Gannicus continued. “You were the boogeyman all of the gladiators spoke of while we drank. I thanked the gods I never had to face you.”

“Don’t thank them yet,” Hannibal growled. Even in his subdued state, Gannicus took a step back from the man.

Spartacus walked around to face Hannibal.

“A moment ago you were friendly with us; chatting about returning home. Now you make attempt on our lives? What is that meaning of this?”

“I say it again, get that man down!”

He looked at Will, whose face had grown pale from the blood loss. Nasir noticed that Hannibal’s eyes were wet as he gazed up at his dominus.

“I have been where you are, brother,” Nasir said. “I was in the highest position a house-slave could be when Spartacus came to my dominus’ villa. I was angry with him. I tried to kill him. I thought that I had lost something that day. I promise you, freedom is far greater than any status a slave…”

Hannibal groaned loudly and pushed himself up from his knees. Agron, Nasir, and now Crixus forced him down again, startled by his strength.

“Don’t make us kill you!” Agron shouted.

“I know it’s hard,” Nasir spoke, “But embrace your freedom, and you will come to love it.”

Hannibal stared back at Will, whose head had lolled forward toward his chest. He bit his lip for a moment, eyes darting in thought. Spartacus simply watched, unsure of what to think.

"He is not Will Capanna!" Hannibal cried out suddenly. "He is a slave, like all of us!"

The men stopped what they were doing.

"He has the appearance of a Roman noble," Spartacus said.

"It is a charade," Hannibal answered. His voice was hoarse and strange, filled with desperation. "We killed the dominus weeks ago. This boy is called Ichneumon. He looked vaguely like Dominus Capanna, and as the master was such a recluse, it took little effort to pretend he was the man himself."

Crixus looked Will up and down. He seemed unsure.

"Lift his tunic and look upon his pelvis, you will see we bear the same mark."

Nasir rushed up to Will and followed Hannibal's instructions. He recognized the brand as somewhat similar to the one on Hannibal's arm, and being a former body slave himself, understood what the location meant for Ichneumon. He stepped out of the way as he lifted the clothing, to let his kinsman see.

The gathered slaves began to murmur and Octavio quickly gestured for their silence.

"Release me!" Hannibal roared. Spartacus and Gannicus obeyed and Hannibal ran toward the man on the cross.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, running a hand over Will's ashen face.

"Hannibal," he croaked, his throat dry.

"Ssh, I have you," he said. He began to pull the terrible spike out of Will's hand. Will cried out and pressed his face into his arm as it slowly emerged, blood trickling down his wrist and arm. "I have you," Hannibal repeated in a soothing whisper. He untied the ropes on his arms and slowly lowered Will into his own.

"Our profoundest apologies," Agron told him. He moved toward Will in his shame, but was halted by Hannibal's raised hand.

Spartacus looked uneasy. Something was gnawing at his senses. Hannibal knelt to the ground with Will over his shoulder and pulled the bloody tunic up over the young man's head and discarded it to the side. His back was covered in signs of former lashings. Spartacus looked at the ground, his muscles easing a bit.

"His immediate appearance is misleading indeed," he said.

"We had counted on that," Octavio replied. He shook like a sickly animal when the words emerged from his mouth.

The rebels stepped aside as Hannibal now carried Will, draped across his arms, into the villa. They followed until Hannibal and the apparent body slave disappeared into the dominus bedroom.

"Gods bless you, Hannibal," Octavio whispered to him as he followed.

 Gannicus looked upon the family shrine in the atrium. Three busts sat upon it, of a senior gentleman who must have been Servius, a lady who must have been the former domina, and a young man who could only be Will Capanna. He was identical to Ichneumon. Gannicus lifted it and stared at the familiar face.

"The likeness is impeccable," he muttered.

Nasir looked on.

"It wouldn't be the first time a dominus wanted a body slave who resembled himself. They have no shortage of self-love."

Agron was clearly shaken by what he had done and leaned against a wall.

"You could not possibly have known of their plan," Nasir assured him.

"I should have waited before acting," he said. "What if I had judged you so harshly based on your appearance and proximity to your former master?"

Nasir knew what it was to be used for the sexual pleasure of a powerful dominus, and the way it consumes one identity until there was very little left to salvage. He embraced Agron, the man who had shown him a love between equals of which he had never dreamed.

"I lived to see myself gain new reason to exist on this plane, and so will he. Just be glad the man who used and marked him has been deposed."

"Speaking of such," Spartacus said. He ducked into the dominus’ bedroom where Hannibal was dressing Ichneumon's hand wound and Octavio was whispering something to him in the dark. The old man visibly lurched when he saw Spartacus enter.

"I must ask you what you have done with the body of your former dominus," Spartacus said.

Hannibal looked at Octavio and gave him a suggestive nod. Octavio returned the look and stood up.

"Follow me," he replied.

"Octavio speaks wisely," Hannibal said to Will when they were alone, referring to the words exchanged just before Spartacus had interrupted them. "There are many slaves in this household and not all will reinforce your disguise. We must escape before you are discovered."

Octavio had taken Spartacus and Crixus to a refuse pit outside of the barracks. In it was a pile of bones with Rufina's flesh burned entirely from them.

"These are indeed human remains," Crixus said, lifting a skull. Then he lifted a hip bone and inspected it more closely. "There are gnaw marks here."

"He was as a beast in life," Octavio retorted, "it seemed fitting that he be treated as such in death."

Spartacus and Crixus looked back at him in horror. Then a slowly building laugh escaped from Crixus throat. He was still laughing when they returned to the villa to tell their comrades of what they found.

"A round of drinks!" Gannicus called out, "In honor of Hannibal and his cannibals!"

Will heard those last words from his bed and closed his eyes.

"He has shown him Rufina," he said.

"Yes."

"Whose bones lie as that of a pig, roasted and chewed."

Hannibal looked down at him in silence.

Will's laugh was a weak and quiet reflection of Crixus' own.

"What have you made of me?" he groaned.

"A man with no limitations," Hannibal replied.

"I would be angry, were it not that I'd be crucified without you."

"Be angry at me when we have made for the hills," Hannibal said.

"The hills? What of Rome?"

"They will undoubtedly be guarding that road," Hannibal answered. "Especially once they know we have fled. I have a place in mind where we can hide."

"I fear for the rest of my house," Will said. "They will either be victims or fugitivus. I must do something for them before we go."

The rebels were celebrating out in the yard. They had found the wine in the pantry and were enjoying it loudly.

"Spartacus!" Crixus called out, "Why do you not join us in our revelry?"

"Something vexes me," Spartacus replied. Crixus knew his friend and leader was a man of good sense, but he was ready to argue.

"It is a perfect place for us to stay for a while, nestled off of the road, stocked with provisions for our army, and in prime position to attack Rome."

"All of that is true," Spartacus said. "And yet I feel we are not secure. Our hosts do not put me at ease."

"Hannibal and his clan are of great asset to us," Gannicus said. "He is a gladiator like no other, and this charade he constructed is brilliant. We would do well to make him our ally."

Hannibal emerged from the villa.

"What say you, fellow gladiator?" Gannicus asked him.

"I say the former dominus of this household was but a _gustatio_. I am ready to feast on _primae mensa_!" Hannibal called out to the raucous laughter and cheering of his new audience. "May all of Rome be invited to our banquet!"

Spartacus could not help but smile at this.

"Now we are at an understanding," he said. "Your plan was well-plotted. But tell me this, why hide your false dominus from us? Why not tell us what you had in place when we first spoke?"

"I did not know you were staying," Hannibal replied. "I did not wish to expose our plan, and wished to protect our way of life for a bit longer."

"He hid me," Will said, stepping outside. His hand was wrapped in linen. "I feared that I would be killed instantly, no questions asked. I have been living in fear from the day this plan began. The horrors that await a slave who poses as a Magister... it kept me quiet for longer than I should have."

"Your resemblance to your dominus is quite a lucky coincidence," Spartacus said. He was looking this boy, Ichneumon, up and down. He was of pristine form, his hair cropped in the style of a Roman noble, his body lean and without the sinews of labor, his nails clipped and clean and his teeth and gums without stains or wear. He was a body slave. But then again, even Nasir, who was the favorite toy of his former dominus, did not look so well-fed, free of the signs of hardship, and cosmetically perfected as this young man.

"I believe that is why he purchased me in the first place," Will explained. "I reminded him of his younger self."

Spartacus cocked his head at Nasir, who had suggested a similar explanation.

"It is doubly lucky," Will added, "because I have been able to convince the notary public of my identity."

He lost his breath a bit while speaking. He looked over at Hannibal, whose face was touched by a small questioning expression.

"I have gathered all of the documentation, including the dominus' seal, in the cubiculum," he went on. "We have the signatures of the notary, all I must do is sign and seal them, and every person on this property will be free."

Spartacus' face broke out in an approving smile.

"Show me," he said.

Will led them into the cubiculum. He opened the desk and pulled out several parchments that were blank except for the notarization at the bottom. They were remnants of a more reclusive time for Will, when even calling a notary or going to visit one seemed to be too much of a social hassle. The notary had been gracious enough to break protocol and grant him a supply in advance. The expression on Hannibal's face when he saw them was nothing short of pride. He put one arm around Will and pulled him against his body. Will smiled, surprising himself with how much he still craved Hannibal's validation.

"It took me a while to stockpile these," Will lied. "We may not yet have enough for everyone, but perhaps we could get away with putting two names to a paper, seeing as our game is up."

"I rather regret ruining it for you," Spartacus apologized. "It was a flawless scheme."

"It needed to be done," Will said. "Now we can make our escape and blame Will Cappanna's death... on you."

Spartacus laughed.

"It's the least we can do for nearly crucifying you!" He clapped him on the back and Will began to tremble a bit. At this, Hannibal embraced him tighter.

Will leaned over the desk and wrote a declaration of freedom for Hannibal and then signed and stamped it with his seal. Hannibal stared at the piece of paper and then looked away with a far-off gaze in his eyes. Will continued to fill out the documents for every slave in his household, including the boy called Ichneumon. He smiled a bit as he wrote that one, wondering what it would have been like for that boy if he had existed. To live a life of slavery and then finally write the words that would set himself free with his own hand. Tears began to well up in his eyes, which was enough to finally set Spartacus at ease. The rebel gladiator seemed quite moved himself. Hannibal watched Will take on his role beautifully, his eyes moving over his lover's face, admiring the ability to manipulate manifesting in him so spontaneously. It was a performance fit for the Greek stage.

Spartacus took the documents and began handing them out to the people in the villa. Some refrained from reaching out until they were coaxed, others grabbed the paper like one stumbling out of the desert who is offered a skin of water. During the distraction, Hannibal and Will began to gather provisions enough to slip away. Their own "forged" documents were secured within their clothing. Hannibal heard the sound of someone approaching very quietly, too quietly to be a rebel just looking for more to eat and drink. He stood up slowly and turned around. Octavio raised his hands to him.

"The slaves are scared." He said. "Some don't even know what's going on. I haven't had the opportunity to find out how many are willing to go along with your facade. Someone will likely reveal you."

"All the more reason to disembark," Hannibal replied.

"I will go with you," Octavio said.

"You are free, Octavio," Hannibal told him. "You can go wherever you wish with that paper Will scribed for you. If you come with us, they will hunt you along with us."

"Where would I go?" Octavio asked. "Today I saw my beloved Dominus' son, who I saw raised from an infant, hanging from the cross. I have never in my adult lifetime felt so afraid. I owe you a great debt, Hannibal. I will not be a burden to you, but please let me go with you and Will."

Hannibal nodded as Will returned from his cubiculum with a modest amount of coin.

"I didn't take much, so they would not feel we stole from them," he explained. "I left the seal. Hopefully, between that and all the papers I drew up, they will not be persuaded to chase after us."

They slipped out as the slaves gathered around the rebels. Those who had not been in the yard when Will was crucified were confused by the papers. They began to huddle together and murmur amongst themselves.

"Where is Dominus?" an older woman cried out and was hushed by another.

Spartacus' eyes narrowed.

"Do you mean Ichneumon?" he asked.

"Who is Ichneumon?" another slave asked.

Hannibal, Will, and Octavio had made it out of sight before everything fell apart inside of the villa. Gannicus looked through the rooms trying to find Hannibal and Ichneumon while Spartacus pressed the slaves for more information. Finally, a young man named Lukas stepped forward.

"There is no Ichneumon," he said. "The Dominus was pretending to be a slave to trick you. Long live the revolution."

He said those last words in an appeasatory tone.

"How could you!" someone admonished him. Lukas shot her a glare.

"Gannicus!" Spartacus called out, "Where are they?"

"Why are you protecting him?" Agron asked the slaves.

"He is a kind man, a good dominus!"

"Even a kind master is still one who thinks that he can own people as though they are beasts!" Lukas replied.

"Truer words have never been spoken," Spartacus said.

"They are gone!" Gannicus called out.

"No!" Crixus roared, "They'll go to Rome and we will be surrounded by nightfall."

"Take the horses and go after them,” Spartacus ordered. “They must be on foot or we would have spotted them by the stable. Nasir, go to Naevia and the other scouts and let them know we are on the lookout."

The rebels roared and dispatched into the night.


End file.
